


after the fire (a still, small voice)

by lostsometime



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Empire Kids, Episode Tag, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, crteamhumanweek2019, episode tag: s2e86 The Cathedral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostsometime/pseuds/lostsometime
Summary: Deep down, Caleb almost expects this city to be the end of him, but damn it, it will not take Beau.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 7
Kudos: 184
Collections: Team Human Week 2019





	after the fire (a still, small voice)

The thing is – _The thing is,_ Caleb’s been operating through a near-paralyzing sense of dread for so many hours, he’s almost stopped noticing it. The overwhelming, oppressive fear that flooded him when he realized they were going to Rexxentruum -- _really_ going, going _now_ , not planning and not talking and not hedging around it but really, actually going to the city that haunts his nightmares – it hasn’t stopped. By concentrating on the warm pressure of Beauregard’s hand on his shoulder, he’s figured out how to breathe despite it, but it’s still _there_. He can feel it waiting to engulf him the moment he lets himself think too much about what he’s doing.

The brief moments he spent as an eagle had been blissful. Quiet. His eagle-brain couldn’t hold the vastness of the fear and the world narrowed to the sky, the rain, the horizon, and a single aim – to look. Just to look, without needing to judge or consider or analyze what he saw. Just for a handful of moments, before he registered the griffon riders closing in and let go of the spell. In the split-seconds he spent in free-fall between the ending of _Polymorph_ and the casting of _Feather Fall_ , the fear came rushing back in. The weight of it tangled his tongue when he tried to talk his way out of trouble with the guards.

It’s almost a relief when they finally start fighting. He’s afraid for his life, of course, as he always is when they battle, but it’s a more immediate, manageable fear than he’d been grappling with before. All his thoughts are bent on strategy, his mind cataloguing which spells he has at his disposal and which might be most useful. He has no space left to worry that he might be recognized, or to wonder if Astrid is here, in this city, right now. No room to mentally trace the path to the Academy through streets that are both familiar and strange. It’s just him, and his magic, and a bunch of cultists that are trying to kill him and his friends. Simple.

They start off strong, the Nein, and the battle seems to be in their favor, and then it all goes to shit. That’s how most of their plans go, Caleb thinks, as the tides turn – they start off strong and then it all goes to shit. He remembers their fight with Avantika’s crew at Darktow, how he managed to hold a wall of flame steady even while countering her attempts at magic, and the exhilaration of those first few moments – and then it all went to shit and he woke up with his face in the dirt and a crossbow bolt in his back. 

He remembers the battle with the Gearkeeper in the prison in Hupperdook, how carefully they had planned out their strategy, how perfectly their plan to blind the thing seemed to work – and then it all went to shit when it turned out to be prepared for such things. The end of that fight is mostly a blur in his memory, a haze of fear and pain that clouded his mind after he was pinned to the wall like a butterfly on a card, but he knows he wasn’t the only one who nearly died that day. 

He remembers, though he tries not to, the pre-dawn planning on Glory Run Road, and how their ambush seemed at first to go so successfully, how quickly Nott reached the cages and how well his _Slow_ spell had worked, up until the moment they realized how in over their heads they truly were. The terror when Lorenzo proved to be much, much more than he appeared, and how quickly things had shifted against them. Mollymauk, going from whirling around the battlefield in a purple-and-crimson blur to fallen and still in the span of a moment.

In line with this same tradition, opening strong and then falling apart, he smashes his spectral cat’s paw through the stained glass and hitches a ride on it to get inside and launch off a powerful Fireball – and then he falls, and before he can get his feet back under him he’s being stabbed by two separate daggers and a lot of shards of broken glass. By the time he’s dragged himself up, the doors to the fane have slammed open and the Laughing Hand has burst through. He knows Yasha must be there, too, but he can’t see her past the Laughing Hand’s bulk. He makes it around to get a better view just in time to watch in horror as Yasha strikes Beau down.

It feels like it happens in slow motion, like he has all the time in the world to realize what’s happening, to feel his fear, and to remember –

_a glaive glinting in the early morning light –_

_blood in the snow –_

_his own helpless fury, reflected in Beauregard’s face –_

_Beauregard –_

_Beau—_

His mind stutters at that, and somewhere inside of Caleb, a still, small voice whispers _no. No, not this time._

See, deep down, Caleb almost expects this city to be the end of him, but _damn it, it will not take Beau._

Thunder crashes in the cathedral, but Caleb can’t hear it over the sudden rushing sound filling his ears. He doesn’t know if it’s his own heartbeat pounding or the roar of flames. Yasha has moved, but the Laughing Hand remains, looming over Beauregard’s unconscious body, sprawled across the altar. The Hand casts a huge pillar of shadow across the floor as lightning flashes outside, and Beau looks so _small_ , lying so still in the middle of that darkness.

Caleb takes one, two, three steps forward without even realizing it. The next thing he’s aware of is the cat’s cradle in his hands as he moves through the somatic elements of his spell. The Hand is burning, laughing and burning, and on any other day he might be distracted by it, but not today. On any other day, he would surely feel some satisfaction from the success of his spell, but not today. His eyes are fixed on the altar, and when Beauregard comes gasping back to consciousness, he finally lets out his own breath.

It’s strange, but in the moments afterward, he doesn’t feel afraid anymore. Oh, it’ll come back soon enough, he’s sure, but just then – it’s like he’s burned out all his fear, like watching Beauregard come so close to death overloaded him completely, and his voice doesn’t shake at all as he mutters, “ _Get the fuck away from my friends.”_


End file.
